


Suddenly There'll Be a Blizzard (Let It Snow Remix)

by kianspo



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Reunions, high school rivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianspo/pseuds/kianspo
Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 33
Kudos: 472
Collections: X-Men Remix Madness 2020





	Suddenly There'll Be a Blizzard (Let It Snow Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Let It Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094829) by [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity). 
  * In response to a prompt by [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity) in the [xmen_remix_madness2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmen_remix_madness2020) collection. 



> The original fic is all warm and fluffy and wonderful and will give you ALL THE FEELS.

There were few things in life that felt as heavenly good as a nice long hot shower after a twenty-eight-hour flight with multiple layovers in noisy, inhospitable places. It created an almost euphoric effect, magnified by the fact that said shower was taking place in a cabin in the woods, far away from buzzing minds and intruding emotions of other people. Charles couldn’t be blamed, he really couldn’t, for going a bit drunk with relief.

_There are two infinite things: the universe and human stupidity. And I’m not sure about the universe._

Albert Einstein had never said that. Charles knew that, because despite his current condition and most recent actions, he was a smart, well-educated man. Some might say a prodigy. The only explanation he had for the utterly idiotic thing he did that might cost him some extremities if not his life was that damn shower, and the first opportunity he had to relax in over two days.

He was so tired by the end of his journey from a charming little town just outside Kyoto to the middle of buck fuck nowhere Utah that he hardly listened to the man working the reception desk when he arrived. He checked him in, gave Charles the map of the resort, marked his cabin with a fat, exasperated ‘X’, and then had to point Charles in the right direction twice. 

Trudging through the snow, while lugging his not inconsiderable suitcase behind him, his shoes woefully unequal to the weather, Charles experienced a plethora of emotions in regards to Raven, none of which were brotherly love. Who went to Utah in the middle of freaking February for a wedding? Charles didn’t understand that. Not six months ago when she’d first mentioned it, not two weeks ago when she called him to announce that she’d booked him a flight.

In theory, yes, Charles could see how she wanted to please her fiancé. Azazel, whom Charles had yet to meet, had apparently grown up in the middle of Siberia, where five degrees Fahrenheit combined with three-inch-per-hour snowfall were considered a lovely weather for an outdoor picnic. He was going vegan for her. Raven wanted him to feel at home on their very special day.

Charles swore. He had sworn when he’d first hung up, and he swore again now as, by nothing short of a miracle, he managed to find his damn cabin. The furthest one from the main building, just as he had requested, though right at the moment, he wasn’t feeling very grateful that Raven made certain he was comfortable. He was anything but comfortable. He was exhausted, he was cold, his jeans were wet up to his knees, his left hand was frozen solid to the suitcase handle. It was dark, and it was late. Raven had texted him earlier, asking if he’d make it to the rehearsal dinner tonight. Charles had told her not to count on it, and was feeling immeasurably grateful for his foresight. All he wanted to do was take the longest hot shower in his life and dive straight to bed.

The cabin had been prepared, and Charles almost felt sorry for his abruptness with the reception staff. The thermostat was on, and there was even a fire in the fireplace, which was probably a safety violation, but Charles didn’t care. He dropped his suitcase, not bothering to open it, shrugged out of his coat, pulled off his shoes, and lost the rest of his clothes on his way to the bathroom. The water was hot, the water pressure frankly amazing for a cabin in the woods, and for a few blissful moments it was all going swimmingly.

Then, there was a horrible, grating metallic sound, a loud crack, and then the water stopped completely and without warning.

Charles swore. He remembered now what the clerk had been trying to tell him. Something about a temperamental boiler, and how Charles needed to check some panel or some lever or _something_ outside before he turned the water on. He could not remember the details, because he was hardly listening. God, why didn’t he simply go to bed straight away? His brain was always useless for several hours after flying, and it was a _long_ flight.

He could do this, if he concentrated. For God’s sake, he was an intelligent man. He had two PhDs to prove it. How complicated could it be if the clerk felt it safe enough for the guests to do on their own? Charles could do it. It wouldn’t take a minute.

He toweled himself off hastily and pulled his jeans back on. It was a special kind of torture, tugging them over his wet, overly sensitive skin, but he gritted his teeth and jerked them up, swearing, not bothering doing up the fly all the way. He tried to fit his feet into the shoes, but it was a no go, the leather soaked and coarse, and completely uncooperative. Charles cursed, and decided to make a run for it.

Which was how, of course, he came to be outside in a snowstorm, dressed only in a pair of jeans and barefoot, trying to figure out which side of the cabin the boiler would be on, when he heard the most terrifying sound on Earth—the sound of the door swinging closed with a soft whine, followed quickly by a soft metallic ‘click’ of the magnetic lock.

Charles froze.

“No,” he muttered, releasing a cloud of air. “No, no, no, no, no. Oh, come _on_!” He wriggled the handle. The door, naturally, didn’t budge.

It was cold. God, it was cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, dancing on tiptoes, because the ground was so cold it burned. A gust of wind showered him in snow dust, tiny prickles of ice all over his exposed back and shoulders making him gasp.

What was he to do? Under normal circumstances he’d call out for help. Raven was in the main building somewhere, half a mile away, and normally, a distance like that would be nothing to Charles. But the flight… The flight took that away from him.

Could he make it on foot? Half a mile wasn’t a big deal, but he was all but naked, exposed to brutal temperature, and the storm sounded like it was gathering momentum. No. He was already on the verge of losing sensation in his feet. There was no way he could make it. There were a few cabins nearby, but Charles didn’t see any lights on when he was making his way here. There were minds nearby, yes, but in his current condition he had none of his usual precision or reach. He was as likely as not to give nightmares to some unsuspecting folks two towns over than to communicate clearly with the closest human beings.

He was doomed.

Charles groaned. It was laughable really that he managed to create a life and death situation while attending his sister’s wedding. He would laugh, honestly, if his teeth weren’t chattering so hard. Could he break the window? Assuming they weren’t made of plastic-reinforced glass, it was his best bet…

“What the hell are you doing?”

Charles jumped. A flush of adrenaline warmed him for a few hot seconds. A man was hurrying down the path leading further up the hill, his stride purposeful and efficient. Like a reasonable human being he was sporting full winter gear, including a hat, a scarf, and a really warm-looking parka. Before Charles could do more than whimper, because it _hurt_ now, God, how could the cold even hurt—the stranger was all but springing onto the porch next to him, glaring from under the hood.

“Are you insane?”

That voice. Charles knew that voice. His heart gave a treacherous lurch despite it all. Was it possible? Was he hallucinating from the cold?

“Erik?” he uttered incredulously, but his teeth were chattering too badly, and what came out was more like: “Ehrrrkh?”

There was barely any light outside, and the snowstorm was too thick, but the man was right before him now, his mental presence pushing almost aggressively at Charles's shields that were as wonky as the rest of his telepathy at the moment. Charles knew that presence, that aggressive magnetic pull. Incredibly, it really was Erik Lehnsherr, and he was glaring at Charles.

“L-locked m-myself out,” he managed, hugging himself closer.

Erik's eyes traveled over him with an offensive kind of disbelief, before he turned toward the door and waved at it vaguely. There was a soft metallic click, and the door swung open.

“Oh,” Charles breathed out, staring.

Erik rolled his eyes, grabbed him by the arm none too gently, and all but dragged him inside, kicking the door shut behind them. Charles stumbled over his suitcase and would have nosedived if Erik didn’t catch him.

“You’re a walking disaster,” Erik swore, propelling him toward the fireplace. He shook Charles a little. “Stay. Here.”

“There’s n-no n-need t-to take that t-tone,” Charles informed him, as Erik stormed off in the direction of the bathroom.

Charles began shivering, hard enough to be in danger of losing balance. He retreated a few unstable steps from the fire that seemed both wonderful and way too hot. He couldn’t stop shaking.

Erik returned with a towel, threw it over Charles's shoulders, spun him around, and began to rub his arms and back vigorously.

“Ow, ow, ow, _stop_!” Charles yelled, because it _hurt_ something awful. The fluffy rich cotton felt like sandpaper scrubbing roughly against his skin. Erik huffed, and didn’t even slow down. “S-seriously, you d-don’t have to do this!”

“Pretty sure I do.” Erik was actually rubbing harder. “See, personally, I have always been of the opinion that idiots should be left to die of their own stupidity, but, unfortunately, my boss would disagree.”

That made no sense at all, and Charles blamed it on Erik's rough treatment. “You b-boss? You work f-for the retreat?”

Erik snorted in disgust. “No. Although, to be fair, it wouldn’t be much worse than my actual job. But no, I’m here for the wedding.”

“Oh,” Charles said numbly, more concerned at the moment with being manhandled so painfully. “You c-can stop—I m-mean, I can do this myself.”

He _knew_ Erik rolled his eyes as he let him go. “Suit yourself.” He stomped toward the fireplace and crouched beside it, stoking the fire and adding a log to the flames. “What possessed you to come out like that?”

Charles, whose fingers were still barely cooperative, scrambled to catch the towel. “The boiler… Uh, I was taking a shower—the man at reception said to check the pipes, but—”

Erik swore, his face turning in the direction of the bathroom, eyes narrowing in concentration. Charles heard a reluctant slide of metal on metal somewhere outside. It didn’t sound like a good kind of noise, but Erik's shoulders relaxed marginally.

“It should work fine now. Next time, try not to kill yourself doing something you’re clearly not qualified to do. Like getting out the door.” He straightened up and glared at Charles some more.

Charles would have rolled his eyes if he had any energy to spare. He gave up on the towel, letting it pool at his feet, and was simply standing there, letting his abused skin thaw in the wonderful, amazing, divine warmth of the room. He could feel his pulse in his entire body. 

“Oh, honestly, like you’ve never done anything stupid when you were jetlagged,” he muttered, stretching cautiously, surprised and relieved that everything seemed to be obeying, and beginning to contemplate the mechanics of getting out of his frozen jeans.

His telepathy was more like a rollercoaster gone off track at the moment, but Charles still felt the sudden sharpening of Erik's attention. It was focused entirely on Charles now, and the texture of it was familiar. It made Charles breathless with shock. Not because it was new. Over the years, he’d felt it many times in bars, at parties, even at professional events sometimes—that sensation of a frank physical appraisal, combined with a directed burst of lust. He just never in a million years expected it from _Erik Lehnsherr_ of all people.

Charles turned around slowly, and sure enough, Erik was giving him the elevator stare, his eyes lingering on the exposed jut of Charles's hipbone. It was all honestly too much.

“Really?” Charles blurted out.

Erik's gaze snapped up, but instead of feeling embarrassed, he smirked. “Why not?”

Charles stared at him. Then he gaped. Then he started to laugh. Erik's expression darkened, shifting toward offended, which only made Charles laugh harder.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he managed when he could get himself halfway under control. “My God. What a boost to one’s ego.”

“What?”

“Well, here I was, arguing with you in my head all these years, and you don’t even recognize me. Honestly, Erik, that’s just—”

But Erik was in his space already, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him toward the fireplace, where—oh. Where there was more light. He stared down at Charles, his eyes widening in shock.

“ _Xavier_?”

Charles grinned up at him, still breathless from laughter. “I have a first name, you know.”

“Charles,” Erik breathed out, his fingers tightening unconsciously on Charles's wrist. “Good God, that’s really you. How—what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the wedding. Raven is my sister.”

Erik frowned. “Your sister… But she doesn’t have the same last name.”

“One of us was adopted.” Charles rolled his eyes. “My mother isn’t sure which one.”

“Right,” Erik drawled, still visibly shaken. “It’s really you. I—wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t have hit on me,” Charles teased.

Incredibly, Erik blushed. Charles had never seen him blush before. He was abruptly aware that Erik was still holding his wrist, his thumb rubbing in unconscious little circles.

Erik made a face. “I was just trying to get out of the rehearsal dinner. I’m late as it is, though, so hopefully Raven has given up on me by now.”

“Right, you said you were here for the wedding,” Charles said. “I didn’t know you knew Raven.”

“Azazel and I work together, so it’s through him mostly.”

“Oh.” Charles frowned. “Wait, Azazel works for the FBI. Does that mean—”

“He’s my partner.” Erik shrugged.

Charles stared. Erik was working for the FBI? _Erik_ was working for the government? The same Erik who used to loudly campaign for ‘the abolishment of the mutant-oppressing regime’ and had once had the entire debate team suspended from competing by stating that Sebastian Shaw’s methods may have been regrettable, but the man ‘did kind of have a point’?

Erik had clearly caught on to his disbelief, because he sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ll bet,” Charles said, still staring. “I’d love to hear it, though I wouldn’t dream of keeping you if Raven is waiting.”

Erik's eyes bore into his. “Like I said, I’m already over an hour late. I think they can do without me. You need to go finish your shower, warm up. I can… wait till you’re done?”

Charles cocked his head, even as his heart skipped a beat. “Are you certain? I mean, you’re under no obligation to be nice to me, just because you didn’t remember who I was—”

“Charles.” Erik squeezed his wrist, his tone indulgent. “Go take a shower. I’ll wait.”

Charles finally took a step back, managing not to trip this time. Erik's touch sent a tendril of excitement through his entire frame. 

“Uh, all right then. I’ll be quick. Make yourself at home.”

“Take your time,” Erik said, his smirk returning.

Charles retreated back into the bathroom with as much dignity as he could project, which he was afraid was not much at all.

He stood under the hot spray, and it was supposed to be relaxing, but even as his body warmed up, Charles felt himself buzzing with chaotic energy. He felt more awake than he had at any time during the last forty-eight hours.

Erik was here. Erik was here and _waiting for him_. It boggled the mind. Back in school, they hardly said more than a few words to each other apart from their endless arguing. Charles was a skinny, awkward fifteen-year-old junior, who skipped a few years here and there, and felt utterly disconnected from most of his classmates. He wasn’t friendless, but he was quiet and sort of bookish, and in general not the kind of person people would look at twice.

Erik was a senior, and everyone knew his name. Erik was bright and loud, vicious as the captain of the wrestling team, who did krav maga in his spare time and looked like bad news while excelling academically without trying. He had an army of hangers on. He organized a streak run through the cafeteria in protest of the MRA. He wrapped the principal’s car around a flagpole when the man tried to institute mandatory check ups for mutants. He got away with it, too, because no one had seen him do it. He all but militarized the debate team, throwing them into every hot mutant politics issue with such ardor that they decimated everyone during states.

Charles had a crush on Erik, which wasn’t at all unusual. Everyone had a crush on Erik. People didn’t even discuss it much, like it was a given. But Charles had always felt that his crush was perhaps a bit more than that.

Alas, he knew too well, he didn’t stand a chance. Even joining the debate team was invitation-only, and Charles couldn’t stomach the idea of being publicly rejected. He settled instead for daydreaming quietly from afar and working for the school newspaper, publishing daring editorials where he said everything he couldn’t say to Erik's face.

And suddenly it was a battle. Every time Erik and his posse did something outrageous in defense of whatever radical position they were supporting at the time, Charles published a well-argued article in favor of the opposite. Not to be contrary, but honestly, what else could he do? Erik argued in favor of _complete segregation_ in those days, for crying out loud. Someone had to be the voice of reason. And if the tone of his pieces turned overly sarcastic at times, clearly calling out certain people without naming names, well. Erik brought that on himself really.

Charles never expected it to become a thing, since most people never read the school paper. Except suddenly everyone did. Suddenly, there was a sense of eager anticipation of every new issue, there was laughter in the corridors, and debates spontaneously breaking out in classrooms where everyone was too intimidated by Erik—or too dazed by him—to say anything before. Suddenly, Charles had _supporters_ and even a few _fans_. And everyone was holding their collective breath for the inevitable showdown. Bets were made as to how long it would take Erik to crash Charles like a bug or send someone to beat him up or something.

They all lost, because no one bet on Erik storming into the newspaper office late one night to attack Charles without preamble about his latest article—with _words_ , not fists or stray pieces of metal. No one anticipated them staying there until one a.m. arguing the point or Erik giving Charles a lift home afterwards. No one expected it to become a regular occurrence, mostly because no one had a clue it was happening.

They became the highlights of Charles's week, those not quite secret meetings. Erik wasn’t just loud, he was _smart_ , he was _cunning_ , and Charles spent his days hashing out his arguments, doing research, just so that he could hold his own. It felt… exhilarating. And yes, at night, Charles fell asleep to the fantasies of Erik winning the debate by kissing Charles silent, but he couldn’t really help it.

Erik never did, of course. Never showed the slightest inclination. He brought Charles chocolate bars (and a milkshake once) when he came to the office, and always tuned in to Charles's favorite station when he drove him home, and it was all incredibly unfair. Because then Erik went to prom with Angel Salvadore, and then he graduated and left for college, and he didn’t even say goodbye.

Senior year sucked so much for Charles that he’d pushed through and graduated one semester in. He’d made a string of progressively worse decisions that month, culminating in picking up a random guy at a New Year’s party, one who looked vaguely like Erik, convincing him with a nudge of his powers that Charles was of age, and then crying straight through being fucked for the first time, not because the sex was bad, but because _nothing_ was good or ever going to be. Charles didn’t remember the first year of college all that well, he was so numb in the aftermath.

Life went on. He had his studies and his research. He even wrote sometimes for the university newspaper. He had friends and lovers, relationships. None of the forever kind, but they were good all the same. His life was good. And most of the time he didn’t think about that nagging feeling at the back of his mind, lurking in and out of consciousness, that something was broken deep inside of him, an injury that never really healed. A spot of darkness that didn’t impair vision, but never went away.

And now Erik was here.

Charles turned the water off, overheated now, if anything, pressed his hands against the wall of the shower stall and breathed. He could do this. Just as before when his mind was still too frozen to remember. Light and teasing, like a man who ran into a childhood friend he remembered sharing some good times with. Not like someone who had fallen hard and fast and never quite forgotten.

He toweled himself dry with more care than he usually exerted, convincing himself that he was being thorough and not stalling. He pulled on the pajama pants and the threadbare long-sleeved t-shirt he’d pulled out of his suitcase before the whole disaster with the boiler. He felt hardly adequate to the challenge, but he didn’t want to make a show of retrieving other things while Erik watched. He glanced at himself in the mirror and winced at the panicked look in his eyes.

He could do this. He was a grown man. He had done far more nerve-wracking things than this. He just couldn’t think of any right at the moment.

Charles scowled at himself. He was being ridiculous. Maybe it was all for nothing anyway. Maybe Erik had long gone, tired of waiting for Charles to emerge.

Erik wasn’t gone. When Charles finally walked back into the living room, Erik was sprawled on the couch before the fire, clad only in his sweater and slacks now, effortlessly elegant in a way that made Charles's heart ache. He was reading something but he looked up as Charles entered.

“Um,” Charles said, while Erik looked him up and down and grinned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Erik said, but he was laughing softly. He gestured vaguely at Charles's overall appearance. “You still get carded whenever you try to buy alcohol, don’t you?”

Charles ducked his head, blushing. All right, that _was_ funny. There was a reason he usually wore a three-piece suit when he taught his classes and it wasn’t that he was a stuck-up power-hungry ass.

“Not more than once or twice a month these days,” he admitted with a grin of his own. “You wouldn’t believe how often I’m mistaken for a student, though.”

“Oh, I’d believe it,” Erik chuckled. “Must make things awkward for you, Doctor Xavier.”

Only then did Charles glance at what Erik was holding in his hands. A brochure from the Japanese conference that he had undoubtedly fished out of Charles's open suitcase. It had a summary of Charles's presentation in it.

“Occasionally.”

“So you got a PhD?”

“I got a couple, actually,” Charles said, as he moved around the other couch to sit opposite Erik. His glance fell on the mug sitting on the coffee table. “What’s this?”

Perhaps it was a trick of the gentle lighting, courtesy of the fireplace, but Erik's eyes seemed to soften.

“Tea,” he said. “You need to warm up properly on the inside, too.”

“Oh.” Charles knew he was blushing again. “Thanks.”

He lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip. Almost instantly he coughed and looked up sharply at the unexpected bite.

“Whiskey?”

Erik shook his head, grinning. “Cognac.” He nodded at the small bottle that Charles hadn’t noticed until now. “Azazel swears by it. A shot with your tea should warm you right up.”

Charles lifted his eyebrows but took another sip. He couldn’t deny the pleasant sensation of warmth spreading through him. “And you just happen to carry one around wherever you go?”

Erik snorted and took a drink from his own glass, no tea present. “I was hoping to sneak it into the dining hall to counteract the vegan non-alcoholic hell your sister has so thoughtfully prepared for us. I should have made a bigger stash.”

Charles laughed. “Don’t let Raven catch you saying that.”

He couldn’t stop looking at Erik, and the cognac wasn’t helping. Erik looked _good_. If anything, he was now even more devastating than Charles remembered. It had been years since Charles felt anything but fully comfortable in his own skin, but now it was a struggle not to revert back into his coltish, awkward self.

Erik's eyes never left him, his gaze assessing, powerful, missing nothing. Charles fought not to shiver. He probably didn’t succeed, because Erik asked: “Still cold?”

“No,” Charles replied hastily, shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. Just uh… just jetlagged, you know? It really was stupid of me to walk out like that, but I’m always a bit loopy after a long flight.”

“Why didn’t you call for help?” Erik asked. “You know”—he tapped his temple—“like this?”

Charles blinked. “You did hear me saying I just got off from a plane?”

“Yes, but—”

“And I’m _still_ a telepath?”

“Yes, but what—” Erik's eyes widened abruptly, and then a familiar scowl appeared on his face. “ _Suppressants_?” he hissed, gratifyingly outraged.

Charles shrugged, drinking more of his tea and looking into the fire. “Not all mutants are created equal. What if I decided to take over the pilot’s mind in the middle of the flight because I was bored?”

Erik actually growled—a deeply displeased sound emitting from his chest. “ _I_ can squish a plane like a can of beans. They don’t make _me_ take them.”

Charles shot him a look and sighed, rolling his neck. “You know the prejudice against psionics goes much further than just the baselines, right? There’s a fair percentage of our fellow mutants who wouldn’t feel too comfortable in the room with me. Hell, _you_ used to yell at me to stay out of your head.”

Erik straightened up in his seat. “Not for that reason. You must know that.”

Charles shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.”

“So you’ve given up?”

Charles glanced up at him sharply. “I pick my battles, Erik. This is a lifelong campaign, not a blitzkrieg. The restrictions are a lot lighter now than they were even a few years ago. It’s a slow progress, but it’s progress.”

“So in the meantime you let them incapacitate you for no other reason than to make them feel better? How’s that strategy working out for you?”

“Surprisingly well, considering I’m the first telepath to become a tenured professor not just at Columbia. In the country.”

“Fat lot of good it was doing you twenty minutes ago when you were freezing to death and couldn’t call for help.”

“That was hardly the government’s fault. I was being an idiot—you said so yourself!”

“Yes, _because_ the government had pumped you full of drugs that fucked you up so bad they made _you_ of all people stupid!”

“And yet you seem to have no problem working for that same government. You must have realized at some point that it’s not all bad.”

“Not in this!”

Charles didn’t realize he was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, drawn into the argument before he even knew it was happening. Erik seemed just as goaded. They stared at each other for a few breathless moments, before Charles laughed.

“Well,” he said, pulling back, releasing the newfound tension from his body. “That didn’t take long. Nice to know we still get along as well as ever.”

Erik huffed, drawing back as well, but the corner of his mouth was twisted in a reluctant grin. “We always got along fine, Charles. People were just idiots.”

“A recurring theme with you, isn’t it?” Charles teased. He took a sip of his tea that was now cold but still smooth going down. “How’d you end up at the FBI? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Erik was gazing at the fire, a pensive look on his face. He was silent for so long that Charles didn’t think he’d answer. But eventually, he shifted on the couch, breaking the brooding stillness.

“I was… pretty wild in college,” he said at last. He lifted a hand before Charles could interject. “I know, I know. People thought I was wild in high school, but honestly, that was nothing. I… I guess you could say that I became—unmoored. I did so many things I can’t even fathom right now. Yet at the time, they seemed… so right. I don’t know how anymore, but that was how it was.”

He fell silent again, a grim look on his face.

“We all made reckless choices when we were young,” Charles offered quietly.

Erik's lips tightened. “Not like that. I didn’t have a—a counterbalance, if you will. Then, my mother died, and I really went off the rails. I attracted people who encouraged me. I got arrested twice my freshman year, three times the next. I was seriously considering dropping out. The summer before my senior year was… insane. The crowd I was mixed up with, they weren’t just about civil disobedience. They were out to get people. I didn’t realize that until I was in too deep.”

Charles shifted forward unconsciously, struggling not to reach out.

Erik sighed, breaking his stare contest with the fire, and gave Charles a quick smile. “I was in deep shit,” he offered, like it was no more than a funny anecdote for dinner conversation. “I went to the authorities, knowing I would most likely end up in jail. Instead, I very nearly ended up dead. That… put some things in perspective.”

He took a sip from his glass and set it back on the table. Charles wordlessly refilled it.

“After that, I cleaned up my act. Graduated. Took a year longer, but still.” Erik twirls the dark amber liquid in his glass, but doesn’t drink. “My case worker suggested I apply to Quantico. Wrote me a recommendation, talked to a few people. And I thought… I thought that rebelling was easier than building. Destroying was easier than creating.” He gave Charles a sly look. “Pretty sure I read that in an article in some useless paper once.”

Charles's mouth went dry. Erik was quoting from memory.

“I uh…” He cleared his throat, staring down at his hands. “I’m glad you…”

“Finally listened to you?” Erik asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Found your calling,” Charles countered gently. “I don’t pay that much attention to anything that’s not under a microscope these days, but even I noticed that there are more mutants now in law enforcement, and it’s been… better lately. Like something is finally shifting.”

“Well, that was the plan all along. Break the system from within.”

Charles laughed softly. “How very much like you.”

Erik was looking at him now, his eyes dark, glinting with reflected fire. Charles felt overheated suddenly, shifted restlessly in his seat.

“What about you then?” Erik asked, leaning forward. “Not that this is surprising.” He tapped his knuckles against the conference brochure lying on the table. “You always were a nerd.”

“Loving science is not a crime,” Charles replied, smiling.

“No.” Erik smiled back. “But I always thought you’d choose something more public. Go into politics, maybe.”

Charles wrinkled his nose. “Not really my thing. I never really understood politics for the sake of politics. I always felt like… I stand too much to gain to be unbiased. It’s a backward piece of logic, I know, but it always seemed so… selfish to be waving my own banner.”

“So what, you’d rather leave it to others or don’t bother?”

“No, that’s not it, it’s just…” Charles struggled to put his feelings into words. “I always felt that the way I lived my life should speak for me. The choices I make. The way I am. That my—fight, if you will, is to be more open than an average person would be. And this”—he nodded at the brochure with his name on it—“this, science, is the closest I can come to working with my hands, to helping someone.”

Erik's eyes held steady, and there was surprisingly no admonishment in them. “An honest man’s work?”

Charles smiled, grateful for the understanding. “Something like that.”

Erik nodded his acceptance, and it shook Charles all over again how different this Erik was from the all-or-nothing kind of man he used to know. Different, and yet—the same. The same heart, the same unyielding passion, just deeper now. Wiser. Not softer, not in a million years, but—tempered with experience.

Charles swallowed, glancing down at his hands. The Erik he used to know had been captivating, addictive, with all his sharp edges. This Erik, with his depth, and his strength, and his power, this completely self-possessed being was—irresistible, inevitable like True North. Charles wondered for a moment, if it would have been better if he really did freeze outside. Somehow, that option seemed less deadly.

Erik's eyes were still trained on him with singular focus when Charles looked up.

“What about the rest of it then?” Erik asked in a deceptively mild tone. “Somehow, I always thought you’d have at least seven kids by this point.”

Charles laughed softly. “Not in the cards, I think.”

He paused for a moment, but it seemed unavoidable. He could blame the jetlag, or being locked out, or getting the shock of his life by seeing Erik, but the truth was he’d been carrying that around for too long. And Erik—Erik was honest with him. He deserved the same.

“You’re not the only one who made some unwise choices in college,” Charles said, even though he couldn’t quite look at Erik. “I—there was someone. Before. I couldn’t quite get over him. I—didn’t cope well. You thought you’d end up in jail, and I’m honestly still surprised I didn’t end up on life support somewhere. I really uh… I really knew how to pick them.

“And after that had run its course, I dated, but I think it broke something inside me. Sounds more dramatic than it is, I know, but I—I could never quite commit to anyone afterwards. Never felt as invested.”

“What happened?” Erik asked into the pause that followed, his voice strangely tense. “Did he—cheat on you?”

“What? Oh, no. No, it was—” Charles had to laugh, odd as it felt. “It was more pathetic than that. It was more that that relationship never really happened. All it was really, was just me pining for a year, wanting him. I don’t think he ever thought of me that way. And then he’d picked up and left without saying goodbye. I don’t blame him; he didn’t owe me anything. It was all very much one-sided. I don’t… really know why it hit me as hard as it did.”

When he did look up, Erik's hands were clasped together, his knuckles white.

“You never thought to ask?” Erik's voice was low suddenly, heavy with gravel. His eyes, when Charles met them, were furious.

Charles didn’t look away this time, held his ground. “I think him leaving without saying a word was answer enough. But perhaps you’re right. Perhaps, I should have gotten that rejection in some official fashion. Maybe it would have given me closure.”

“Closure?” Erik growled. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

He stood up abruptly and started pacing the room, each motion sharp, angry. If he was a tiger, his tail would be cutting the air left and right by now.

“How old were you, Charles, when that terrible person left you?” Erik asked, half-pivoting toward him, until he was all but looming over him.

Charles looked up, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. He had plausible deniability until this moment. He would have none now.

“Fifteen,” he said.

“Fifteen.” Erik nodded. “And he was?”

“Eighteen.”

“Right. And nothing about that strikes you as wrong?”

“I was just a year behind him, it—”

“You were _fifteen_ , for God’s sake! Has it ever occurred to you that he might have wanted you just as badly? That he might have wanted things from you that you weren’t ready to give? That he was an asshole—he sounds like an asshole all right, but he wasn’t that much of one? He couldn’t do that to you, because he genuinely liked you? Respected you?”

Charles's lips were trembling, his breathing came hard and fast. “He could have said something, explained…”

“And what if he couldn’t? What if he didn’t trust himself not to go too far? What if he couldn’t even say goodbye, because he was terrified that seeing you one more time, _knowing_ that it was the last time, he wouldn’t be able to help himself?”

“Erik—”

Erik pushed him back, hands on the back of the couch on either side of Charles, caging him in.

“The first time I came down to that stuffy dungeon office and saw you, I wanted to bend you over that godawful editor’s desk and fuck every single argument you ever made right out of you. Do you think you’d have been better off if I had done it?”

“Erik—”

“I was _drowning_ , Charles. I would have dragged you down with me.”

“That’s not—”

“Yes, it is. You kept me afloat, kept my head above the water, until the moment came when I realized that I started to _rely_ on you to do that. It would have taken nothing at all after that for me to reach out and take everything I wanted from you. You say I broke something when I left? I would have left _nothing intact_ if I didn’t. You—you sit here now, alive and well, and passionate about your work, and bright and optimistic as ever. I’m not going to apologize. I’m not sorry.”

Charles was glaring up at him, chest heaving, their faces inches away from one another.

“And what of now?” he asked. “Am I still that fragile wilting flower to you or—”

Erik made a wounded noise at the back of his throat and kissed him.

Charles was angry. No, he was furious. He ought to have punched Erik, pushed him away. Instead, he found himself grabbing Erik by the waist, pulling forcefully, until Erik was straddling him, pressing him into the back of the couch, kissing him hard, and angry, and perfect.

“You,” Erik breathed out in between rough, possessive kisses, “you made my senior year a living hell, Xavier.” He cradled Charles's face between his hands, his hold too-tight, vindictive and desperate, and kissed him like he wanted to destroy him. “I was half-delirious with lust half the time, and I hoped you’d show some mercy, but you, you, you goddamn _lousy_ telepath, you chose not to pick up on that, and—”

“Erik.” Charles bit down on his lower lip sharply, hands sliding underneath Erik's sweater. “Shut _up_.”

In the thousands of fantasies Charles used to have about Erik, he had never imagined their first time as a romantic cliché—on a plush rug before a fireplace, furniture knocked to the side with little care. But he could not let go of Erik any more than Erik seemed to be able to let go of him, and when Erik pushed him down, they went down together, the only saving grace being Charles's suitcase and its supplies within easy reach.

It was feverish, messy, and perfect. Charles knew sex, knew more of it perhaps than he should have, but it had never been quite like this. When Erik pushed his thighs open and his breath stuttered, Charles felt more aroused than he had ever been in his life. When Erik slid between them, Charles arched off the floor as if someone sent an electric current up his spine, his fingers digging into Erik's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. The entire universe narrowed down to the snapping of Erik's hips, his hot breath in Charles's ear, the curses spilling from his lips as they kissed.

Warning bells were ringing loudly in Charles's mind, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t stop for anything now. He was completely submerged in Erik, his thoughts cascading over Charles, raw emotion being pounded into his skin, unavoidable, inescapable, untethered. Erik moaned in his arms as he moved, shaking, pleading and demanding both, throwing himself at Charles every bit as much as he was taking.

Charles bared his throat to Erik's teeth, hanging on, as Erik faltered and stuttered, and toppled over the edge, breathtakingly gorgeous and trusting, and Charles—Charles was done. He fell apart, latching onto the feeling of Erik's mind, pressed intimately tight against his own, alight with a singular feeling.

Later, when they had made it to the bed at last, when Erik kissed and caressed him with no obvious inclination to be done, he murmured into the heated darkness:

“I didn’t recognize you, because I’ve trained myself to go without. I—I’ve fucked so many short, dark-haired, slender-ish sort of guys over the years, I’ve lost count. Everyone knows I have a type. If I don’t see someone like that when we go out, I’m not interested.”

“Jesus, Erik…”

“Sometimes they’d have lips as red as yours. But never your eyes. Never your mind. They were never _you_. I never thought I could have this.”

Charles rolled on top of him, guided him in, leaned down to kiss him.

“You’re not afraid you’ll ruin me now?” he asked even as Erik's breath hitched, his hands grabbing Charles's hips.

Erik thrust up sharply, catching Charles off guard and smirked. 

“Now, I’m counting on it.”

\--

Charles woke up in slow increments, taking stock as awareness trickled in. He knew immediately that he had slept long; his body felt well-rested. His mind was fuzzy with sleep, but otherwise clear, his telepathy responding, his shields having reasserted themselves. He knew before he opened his eyes that he was alone, not only in bed, but in the cabin. Strangely enough, the thought elicited no particular emotion.

He stretched languidly and rolled out of bed. The clock informed him that it was a little after nine. That was good news. Charles didn’t feel like being actively social yet, and Raven would give him until eleven at least to show his face. She knew how he was after coming off suppressants.

He put on the discarded pajama pants and sweat shirt and puttered around the cabin sleepily, wandering into the kitchenette. He put the kettle on and inspected the cupboards as he waited for it to boil. Sadly, the only edible thing he discovered was a pack of crackers. Charles glared at them. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to chew cardboard. He settled for making tea.

Mug in hand, he wandered back into the living room, absentmindedly righting the furniture, when something made him pause and blink. The fireplace was restoked, the fire humming merrily, dancing over the logs that could not have been put there more than half an hour ago. Charles stared at the fire, hugging the mug to his chest. His mind was curiously empty.

The front door opened, letting in a gust of snowy wind. Charles turned around shivering.

“Oh my God.” He blinked.

“What?” Erik asked defensively.

Charles stared. “Your parka. I didn’t see it clearly last night. This has got to be the worst possible color combination I have ever seen. Does it glow in the dark?”

Erik rolled his eyes, pushing the door open wider to let in two covered trays that were hovering in the air behind him. “They don’t actually have room service here,” he told Charles gravely. “So if I were you, I’d be really nice to me right now.”

“You got me breakfast?” Charles beamed, watching as the trays settled themselves on the coffee table. “My goodness, it’s even warm! Erik, you’re my favorite!”

Erik kicked the door shut, before divesting himself of his horrible parka. His expression softened, clearly despite his better judgment.

They sat on the couch side by side, as Charles all but inhaled the first bagel, Erik laughing at him quietly. They ate, talking about nothing in particular, jumping subjects as their knees and elbows knocked into each other. Erik pushed a sponge cake onto Charles's plate. Charles stole some of his coffee. They refilled their mugs and sat down by the fire, pressed against each other, comfortable and warm.

“So,” Charles said after a while. “Last night was…”

He didn’t need to see Erik's grin; it was all too audible. “Yeah.”

“I don’t mean to… um, that is, if that was some sort of, uh… crossing something off a list or—not that you would, but… I mean, I’d understand. It’s okay.”

Erik was shaking his head. “I don’t know why they even bother with suppressants. You’re a lousy telepath.”

Charles huffed. He could tell Erik that suppressants didn’t actually work all that well on him. He could still influence any mind in his immediate vicinity, it would just take some effort. The suppressants hangover was by far the worst part. He could tell Erik that, but he’d much rather focus on what Erik was actually saying, as it made him feel warm all over.

Charles leaned against him. Erik turned his head and kissed his temple.

“You didn’t bring a date to your sister’s wedding,” he said.

“Hm. No, I didn’t.” He paused. “Where are you stationed?”

“I’m sorry?”

Charles smiled. “Where do you live, Erik?”

“Oh. I work violent crimes, mutant division. New York.”

Charles whined a little at the thought that Erik had been so close this entire time. Erik hummed in rueful agreement.

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me some time?” Charles asked.

Erik laughed softly. “Are you saying we should go steady, Charles?”

Charles snuggled closer. “I’m saying I want to spend as much time with you as I possibly can. Unless that’s not what you want, in which case—”

Erik pulled back, tipped his chin up, and kissed him, slow and drugging, feeding Charles's newfound addiction.

“It’s what I want,” he said quietly into the space between them. “That’s a yes to dinner. That’s a yes to all the dinners, and drinks, and coffees, and whatever else you want. It’s a standing invitation to come over. It’s a standing ‘please stay the night.’ It’s probably a ‘move in with me’ within the next couple of months or so.”

“Erik—”

“I won’t pressure you. We can take it as slow as you want. Probably better that way. But—this is what I want. No misunderstandings.”

“No,” Charles replied, dazed. “Not again.”

Erik frowned slightly. “I’m still not sorry.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Just kiss me already.”

The warning bells in his mind rang once, twice, and no more.

\--

Raven stormed in yelling at him at twenty to twelve and then immediately squeezed her eyes shut and yelled for a whole different reason altogether. Charles's ears were ringing under the assault, but Erik was laughing silently next to him, face buried in Charles's stomach, and it was worth it.

He had a snowy, freezing cold weekend ahead of him, and he had never felt warmer.


End file.
